The Last Holmes Girl
by Amira-Syfqh
Summary: Sherry Holmes, idolized her aunt when she was younger. But one can only wish to hear how wonderful Sherry was at least a dozen times, without getting sick of it! She used to love the idea of being like her, but now, all she wanted was for her father to shut up about his dead sister. Can her family stop putting Sherry on the shelf, or will she only be known as The Last Holmes Girl?
1. Prologue

Sherry Holmes, age 7

"Daddy, who's that?" Little Sherry pointed at the picture. It was nicely framed, and it had the whole Holmes family in it. Sherlock, Sherrinford, Mycroft and baby Sherry with their mother. Mr Holmes took the picture of the happy family. It was taken days after the birth of the Holmes Girl, the only daughter of the Holmes family. A rose among the thorns, as they say. They were all beaming, smiling as wide as they could, ecstatic that they could welcome an addition to the family of geniuses, or was it genii?

Sherrinford smiled as his thoughts drifted to the past. They were all happy, then. But of course, it was only 15 years after Sherry was born that everything changed. Enemies became brothers, and families settled down. Sherrinford, his wife Molly, and their daughter named after his sister, Sherry. Sherlock, married to John, with a son named Hamish. Mycroft and Greg, with William. Sherrinford was the only straight brother of the Holmes siblings. The sister, of course, was gone. She had died saving his life.

"That's Sherry, darling." Sherrinford answered his daughter's question. His daughter's blue eyes twinkled in confusion. She had her father's eyes, but she took after her mother, mostly.

"But I'm Sherry! Is that me when I was born?"

"No, love. Do you want to hear a story?" He asked her. She nodded enthusiastically and led her father to the sofa, where her father sat, pulling her onto his lap.

"You were named after the bravest girl I have ever known. She was fearless, and had risked her life for me. She was a wonderful girl, and she was married to Uncle Jim. Remember Uncle Jim? He came over a few days ago."

Little Sherry frowned. "Of course I remember Uncle Jim! He gave me Mr Cuddles!" Mr Cuddles was this big teddy bear that Jim had bought for her, as a present. It was her height, and she wouldn't go to sleep without it. When she slept, she would hug the teddy bear as tightly as she could and never let go. She really loved Mr Cuddles. Mr Cuddles and her were inseparable.

"Okay, sweetheart. Anyway, she is someone you'd look up to, someone that was worth every diamond in Earth and someone you would never forget." Sherry's father's eyes twinkled as he reminisized the long gone but not forgotten memories.

"Was she pretty?"

Sherrinford nodded. "She was beautiful, like a princess. She had wavy hair, wide curious eyes and a wonderful smile. She always had a mischievous and knowing twinkle in her eyes. You look like her, except for the eyes."

"She sounds like a wunnieful person, Daddy."

"Yes, she was, and it's wonderful, not wunnieful." Sherrinford smiled. Little Sherry stuck her tongue out. "That's not nice, darling. Put your tongue back in." Sherry giggled and obediently followed her father's orders. "Good girl."

"Someday, I want to be like Sherry!" Sherry declared. "I want to be as brave as her, as pretty as her, and as wunnieful as her!"

Sherrinford let out a low chuckle. "One day, darling. One day."

From that day on, Sherry started to ask a million questions on Sherry. 'What was she like?', 'How was she so wunnieful?', 'Why did she die?' or 'Would she like me if she was here?' among other questions. Little Sherry made it her mission to be as 'wunnieful' as Sherry. Sherrinford and Molly encouraged her to, as Sherry had wonderful qualities that should be an example of a good girl. Sherlock was a little uneasy, unsure if he wanted a younger version of Sherry. Jim however, was happy. He was, after all, the godfather, and he raised her like a mini Sherry that he had wanted all those years ago. He loved Sherry like she was his own, and Sherry loved him like a second father. To quote her, 'He's a wunnieful daddy! He should have his own little ones so I'm have coosins!' Sherrinford corrected her pronunciation, and agreed with her. But he knew the reason Jim didn't have his own.

Jim was still mourning over the loss of his beloved wife, after seven years. He had loved her deeply, and he never forgave himself for saying those words to her, even after being repeatedly told that she forgave him, by Sherrinford and the letter Sherry had wrote for him before she died. He had made excuses, saying that he was simply too busy with work. It was half-true. He was up to his neck deep in the work for the Sherry Foundation for Ex Criminals that Want Change for Loved Ones. Most people couldn't believe that the foundation was still running good after seven years. Jim believed that Sherry was helping him do the right thing. Even after death, she was encouraging him to do good things in life, in her name.

Sherlock and John still went about, doing detective work for the Scotland Yard. They were the most respected detectives in the department, much to Sally Donovan's chagrin. Anderson became Sherlock's successor, and is now a famous lecturer and professor in the Science side, of everything. He was like Stephen Hawking, but of course, no one could beat Stephen Hawking. Sherlock and John were going back and forth, caring for their son and managing detective work. But they got by pretty well.

Mycroft was still in his so-called 'minor position' in the Government, but everyone knew better. Greg Lestrade, DI of Scotland Yard, was still doing his job, as a Detective Inspector. He had once joked that his division, which was unknown to everyone including himself at times, was his family, both Mycroft and William, resulting in Mycroft blushing, William and Hamish pulling disgusted faces.

The family was at bliss, albeit losing one beloved member of the family. They had never forgotten about Sherry. They merely kept her in a special place in their mind palaces, a treasure chest filled with cherished moments and fond memories, to be opened for telling stories to Sherry, William and Hamish. And it stayed that way. She, stayed that way.

Locked in a chest, only a memory, like a friend that we never lost. The name Sherry was spoken with smiles and the highest of regards. And it continued to bring smiles to their faces, except for one, after hearing one too many stories of how perfect Sherry was.


	2. Chapter 1

I flopped onto the bed, tired. I wanted to sleep for an eternity. I can't believe Dad could run for 15 kilometres and didn't get tired. Me, I've probably made it as far as 5 kilometres. Running with Dad sucks. But at least I got to listen to Fall Out Boy and watch the sunrise. I've always loved watching the sunrise, or the sunset. It makes everything look beautiful. The sunrise makes the trees glow, like in autumn, where the leaves are orange. And the sunset makes the ocean look even more spectacular, the rays of orange and red, reflecting on the sea, and also making the sky a wonderful orange and red sight. Dad loves seeing the sunset, and he'd usually take me to Clevedon Pier to see it. Dad also said that he almost died there, but I didn't really believe him. How would he have almost died at a pier?

Mum was at the hospital, working. I loved the fact that she worked with dead bodies, where it would be quiet and no one talks, just a comfortable silence. Well, that and also because Uncle Sherlock would sometimes work in the lab, experimenting on new species of plants, finding what type of poison, and whatever. Uncle Sherlock is a detective, and I love detective work! I always asked Uncle Sherlock if I could go and help him and Uncle John, and he usually said yes, but then Dad would say no, because apparently, I would get hurt. I'm not a 6 year old, I think I know how to take care of myself, thank you very much. I never got to go with Uncle Sherlock. Maybe when I'm 16.

Just then, I heard the front door open and close, and a rush of footsteps. I knew well enough who it was, what with my room being the ultimate place for hanging out. My door was yanked open, and in tumbled William and Hamish, my cousins. Well, kind of. William was adopted, because Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg are married, and guys can't have kids. Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John were the same. I have two gay uncles, both married, and with children. "Sherry!" Hamish jumped on me, knocking the air out of me.

"Oof!"

William stood at the side, a smirk formed on his lips. "Hamish missed you." He said. William was 14 like me, and Hamish was 13, a year younger than me. I admit, Hamish and I were more like siblings than cousins. We act like we were siblings. I bet no one could tell that Hamish was my cousin.

I ruffled Hamish's long, black curls. He took after Uncle Sherlock, but his personality was more of Uncle John's. "I missed you too, Hamish." I said. We haven't seen each other in two weeks, as Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John had to go to America for some case. It must be fun, going to America, seeing New York.

"Where's Uncle Sherrinford?" William asked me. He and Dad were like best friends. They both love desserts. Well, Uncle Mycroft's strange obsession with cake had latched onto William, and then William started to like all types of desserts, especially pudding, Dad's specialty. I remembered catching them binge-watching The Great British Bake-Off at 3 am. I suppose they were both sweet toothed.

"He's in the shower." I answered.

"Running again?" William gave me a sympathetic look. He knew Dad was forcing me to go running with him. Uncle Mycroft forced William to get on a treadmill daily. So, we both knew the pain of using our legs to the maximum. I nodded.

Hamish had wandered into my closet. "Hey, girls only!" I shouted. Hamish answered something in return. I opened the door to reveal Hamish wearing one of my pink skirts that Mum bought for me, when I was like, 6. Back when I actually liked the colour pink. I'm more of a black-wearing person. That kind of explains my music taste.

Hamish twirled on the spot, trying to stop himself from bursting into laughter. William had ungraciously snorted at the sight of Hamish. "I'm a pwincess, Sherry!" Hamish said in a sickeningly girly voice. I couldn't handle it. I burst into laughter. Within seconds, all three of us were on the floor, laughing until we had stitches.

"Take it off, Hamish! You look so funny!" I said, in between giggles.

"Never! I am a pwincess and I can never be controlled!" Then, Hamish skipped out of my room. William and I exchanged glances. "We've got a princess to catch." I said, trying to keep a straight face. William nodded.

I grabbed two Nerf guns from under my bed. Hey, when you have two male cousins that come around your house often enough, you tend to have their behaviour rubbed on you! I loaded mine. Then, like actually spies, we crouched and exited the room. Hamish was nowhere to be seen. Where is that little princess? William checked the bathroom. Not there. We went down the stairs like ninjas, barely making a sound. William went to the living room. I went around the back to the kitchen. Where is Hamish?

Then, I heard the familiar holler of that Hamish yells whenever he was trying to sneak up on someone. I turned around and shot Hamish. I heard the satisfactory yelp from Hamish, and William came rushing in. We shared a fist bump. "Princess has been found." He said.

"Mission accomplished." I replied. William lifted Hamish onto his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes, much to Hamish's protests. I grinned and stuck my tongue at Hamish.

Dad entered to kitchen, his hair still wet from his shower. "Thought I heard you guys here." He said. Hamish wriggled free from William and rushed to Dad.

"Uncle Sherrinford!" Both William and Hamish greeted him.

"Hey boys!" Dad ruffled Hamish's hair. We all like ruffling Hamish's hair. His hair was fluffy, and really nice to run your fingers through. William's hair was like a golden retriever, but he would squirm if anyone touches his hair.

"Sherry, have you had breakfast yet?" Dad asked me. I shook my head no. "What about you, boys?" They also said no. "Okay, here's the deal. We're going out to this new cafe that just opened last week for breakfast. Sound good?"

We all nodded enthusiastically. "Good, we'll be gone in fifteen minutes. And Hamish, I hope you're not going to wear that hideous skirt out." We all burst into giggles.

* * *

We were walking to the cafe, which was just less than five minutes away from home. Hamish and I were walking together, listening to Fall Out Boy. We shared my earphones, and no, it's not unhygenic. I was responsible for Hamish knowing all the words to Thnks fr th Mmrs and he liked it. Dance, Dance was blaring in our ears, as I watched the people walk to their destinations.

William was walking in front of us, with Dad. Probably talking about desserts or something. I saw a couple, holding hands. I wish someone would love me like I was their only love. The way the guy looks at her was the way a guy would look at his most precious ting in the universe. Like how Dad looks at Mum. Dad and Mum are very much in love. I want a relationship like theirs.

A strange boy caught my eye. He was sitting on a bench, staring at me. He wore sunglasses, a black t-shirt and jeans. Very handsome, in my opinion. But why is he staring at me? His eyes didn't leave me once, even after I turned away. I could feel his gaze burning in my back as we entered the cafe.

"William, Hamish, you go get us a table, okay?" Dad told the two. They both nodded. William wanted latte and a chocolate eclair, while Hamish wanted hot chocolate and extra marshmallows. Dad got Earl Grey. Dad is such a tea person. He thinks tea is the answer to EVERYTHING. Happy, drink tea! Sad, drink tea! Celebration, drink tea! Everything is tea to him. It's actually kind of logical. I got myself a mocha and a brownie piece.

We sat together, drinking and eating. We looked like an actual family. Well, we are. "Sherry, can I listen to Fall Out Boy, pleeeease?" Hamish begged.

I was about to answer when Dad said no. Hamish pouted. "Aw, c'mon Dad! Just one song?" I pleaded. Any reason to hear Fall Out Boy is a good reason to me.

"Alright, fine. I don't get you two and your obsession with this emo band anyway." Dad rolled his eyes at us.

"Said the man with a highly worrying sweet tooth." I shot back, Hamish giggling. I handed him my iPod and he scrolled through the songs. He chose one and was happily bobbing his head up and down in the beat of the song.

"What's so special about the band anyway?" William asked.

"Ouch, tag-teams huh? I don't know, what's so good about oldies?" I asked him. William was a Beatles fan. I think it was Uncle Greg's influence over the music played in the car that made him like the Beatles. Personally I have no clue on any songs by the Beatles. Yes, I call myself British. Ha ha.

"Hey, hey, play nice!" William warned.

"I'm not nice." I stuck my tongue at him.

"Are you really 14, Sherry, William?" Dad shook his head at us, in mock disapproval. William and I glanced at each other and stuck our tongues at Dad. Dad put both his hands up in defeat. "I come in peace!"

Then Dad and William engaged on a conversation on football. Not my type of thing. Dad supports Chelsea, and William is a Manchester United fan. Well, Uncle Greg and William are Manchester United fans. Dad and Uncle Greg usually would poke fun at each other for liking the other's enemy team. A squabble about two football teams. I'm pretty sure it's some instinct dads get whenever meeting other dads.

Hamish was playing some game on my iPod. I sat there, not really knowing what to do. I played with the stirrer in my mocha. I looked outside and almost fell over. I saw that boy again. He was sitting in the bench opposite the cafe. He is definitely stalking me. And not even bothering to be discreet, either. Trust me, I'm a pro at stalking. I had my moments, particularly that one time when my best friend, Ally, dragged me along to stalk One Direction. They were staying in a hotel near my house. Ally, was unfortunately, infected with the 'One Direction Fever'. I was forced to listen to Ally's ramblings about them. I personally am not exactly a hater. In fact, I rather enjoyed listening to them, but don't tell Ally!

What is the boy's problem, anyway? Stalking someone in broad daylight? I didn't properly look at him before, but now...He had dark, wavy hair, high cheekbones, and a smirk. But what fascinates me is his eyes. They were a brilliant blue, the kind of piercing blue that could melt a girl. Ally calls them the Niall Horan eyes.

Whoa, whoa Sherry. You're not crushing over your stalker, are you? I furrowed my eyebrows and turned my attention back to Dad, William and Hamish. The stalker disappeared from my eyes, but not from my mind. I couldn't forget the piercing blue eyes, even when I closed my eyes as I slept that night.


	3. Chapter 2

"Sherry, love, you can't be serious." Dad said. I told him about the stalker that had followed me when we went out. He didn't believe me.

"Dad, I'm telling you, I keep seeing him everywhere!" I protested. Why doesn't he believe me?

"Sherry..."

"Oh, let me guess, Sherry had a stalker?! I'm not trying to be her, Dad."

Dad's eyebrows furrowed. "What does Sherry have to do with this stalker you claim to see?"

"EVERYTHING! Dad, I'm serious, this guy is creeping me out!" I cried out. Who knows where he could be. Maybe he's right outside the house, watching us, hidden from sight. I shuddered slightly at the thought of it.

"Okay, if you see the guy again, just point him out to me, and-"

"How on earth am I supposed to point out a stalker?! 'Oh, look Daddy that's the creepy stalker I told you about'. And he's called a stalker for a reason!"

"Are you sure you're not seeing things?" Dad raised an eyebrow at me. Oh great.

"So now you think your daughter is going crazy. That's wonderful, Dad. I bet Sherry never became a psycho." I rolled my eyes at him.

"Are you jealous of Sherry?" Are you serious, Dad?!

"Wha-No! Is that what you think this is?! Because I have less-than-impressive grades, I try to make up stories to get your attention?! Who do you think I am, Dad? Your daughter, or just a little psycho?" I stormed up the stairs, and slammed the door to my room, locking it.

Why on earth would I be jealous of a dead person with my name? Why would I even dream of making up stories to get his attention? Well, sure, he talks about Dead Sherry more than Alive Sherry, but that's understandable at times. But I have no intention of replacing her. She's my Dad's sister, and no one can replace a beloved sibling. It's just beyond far-fetched. I don't want to be a copy of Sherry.

I plugged my iPod into the iPod speaker thing. Dad bought it for me. Big mistake. I scrolled through the songs and picked The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy of course.

'I'm gonna change you,

Like a remix,

Then I'll raise you,

Like a phoenix!'

I love that song. It's my favourite from Fall Out Boy. I guess I liked that a phoenix is so beautiful, even if I've never seen it. But I watched a lot of Harry Potter movies with Hamish to know. Their orange-red feathers made it look like flames, and it always marvels me how beautiful something could be.

Did I mention my strange love for an orange-red mix? It's one of the reasons I love sunsets so much. It's beautiful how two colours could blend together so perfectly. And not to mention I love watching a fire, dancing in the night. I'm not a pyromaniac. I'm more of an appreciator of the orange-red flames.

I lay down on my bed, letting the songs consume me. Did you know, that listening to music stimulates all areas of the brain? That's why people listen to music to do almost everything. They stimulate the brain to work a lot better.

'Baby you,

With my picket fence,

I miss missing you'

Ah, a song that I get. Especially the 'taking a bullet for the person behind the trigger' thing. It just proves how deep a love can go. I would probably take a bullet for Dad, but then he'd say I was trying to be Sherry, instead of thanking me. Dad doesn't get it. He thinks everything revolves around Sherry, who died FOURTEEN YEARS AGO. She's dead, and yet Dad still thinks she's alive. I'm standing right here, his daughter, and all he sees is a mini Sherry.

Honestly, I'm not even sure if I like hearing these stupid Sherry stories. I don't care if she took a bullet for Dad! Anyone would do the same! And I certainly don't care if she used to be married to a 'consulting criminal'. That job description doesn't even exist! But apparently, that's what Uncle Jim did until Sherry died. And now he made this stupid foundation for some stupid cause in a dead person's name, and he's also working as a real-estate agent.

Sherry isn't even that good a person! She wasn't a saint, she didn't do anything nearly as good as what Florence Nightingale did! Now, Florence Nightingale is someone we should all remember, not some stupid dead girl who married a douchebag (sorry Uncle Jim). Oh, even better, Mother Teresa! Anyone but my dead aunt.

* * *

"A stalker, Sherry?! Oh my god, maybe he's in love with you!" Ally exclaimed. I was in school. It was lunch time. Ally and I sat at our secret little spot near the back of the cafeteria. It was secluded, and perfect. Of course, there was the occassional couple making out against a tree, but then again, it's still high school.

"No way, Ally! Why would anyone even like me so much that they would stalk me?" I brushed off her theory. It was plausible, really, but why would anyone go for a girl like me? I was a nobody, less than perfect. If Sherry was alive, I'm sure so many guys would fall in love with her, because she's oh-so-perfect.

"Um, other than your beautiful blue eyes, quirky personality and a weird music taste? What's not to love?" Ally nudged me.

"Ha ha. I'd sooner poke myself in the eye than-" Oh look, it's him. He was on a tree opposite the street. What's he doing on a tree? And doesn't he go to school? He was wearing black again.

"Is that him?" Ally whispered to me. I had almost forgotten her! She was looking at him too.

"Yeah, that's him." I answered, not taking my eyes off him.

"Damn. If a less-than-average guy stares at you, it's at best, awkward. But an attractive one, well..." Ally said. "You didn't tell me he was hot!"

"Does it matter?"

"Now it does!" I rolled my eyes at her. The bell rang. We had to go back. I pushed myself up, and pulled Ally with me. "Wait, I'm not done ogling at him!" Ally whined.

"He's a stalker, so no, you're not allowed to even think about him." I said. Ally grumbled and we walked away. I turned to see him, but he was no longer there. At least I'm confirmed not to be crazy. Ally can be my witness.

* * *

All through English, all I could think about was him. My blue eyed stalker. Who is he? What did he want? Why is he stalking me? How did he know where I'd be? Where is he even from? So many questions bounced in my mind. I don't even know why he's all that I could think about. Did I develop a crush on my stalker? If I did, so what? It's not like I'm going to talk to him or anything. He'll always be looking from a comfortable distance.

And so I managed to push him to the back of my mind, but it didn't stop me from seeing him everywhere I go.

* * *

"Sherry, do you want to go to the park?" Hamish asked me. I had one earphone in my ear, Fall Out Boy playing, per usual. I really need other songs to listen to.

"The park? Um, sure."

"Come on!"

"Wait, now?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, now!" Hamish pulled at my hand.

"Okay, okay! Let me just-" I rushed upstairs to get my sneakers. Yes, I wear sneakers. But I do have two pairs of high heels that I don't wear. I hate walking in them. It made my feet feel sore, and I hate having sore feet.

I grabbed my earphones too, along with my iPod. I quickly scribbled a note to Dad, saying that we'll be back before dark. Hamish was waiting for me impatiently, his feet tapping. "Patience, grasshopper." I rolled my eyes, amused.

I threw my arm around him. He refuses to hold my hand when we walk, because he claimed to feel like a baby. So we found an alternative solution.

Uncle John had bought Hamish an iPod, as he thinks Hamish is bothering me with the constant requests of using my iPod. I told him that it was no biggie, but Uncle John wouldn't listen. So there we were, two cousins, both ears plugged with earphones, headphones for Hamish, listening to the same band. I bet we looked a little weird.

'I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday'

I told Hamish that I would be sitting on the benches, waiting to see the sunset. He agreed and left me to play with the ducks in the pond.

Then, the sun had began to sink slowly into the horizon, letting the moon rise to illuminate the night sky. It's beautiful, really, these two big objects in the sky, giving light to us, in a never-ending cycle.

The sky was a beautiful orange-red. I wished that I could just stay here and admire the sunset, but I do have to go home. I stood up and called for Hamish. When he didn't answer, I panicked. Where is he?!

I hurried to the duck pond and looked for him. There was no one, except this old man feeding the ducks. I wandered on the path, looking for Hamish. I can't lose him! Uncle Sherlock would be so anxious. And Uncle John would be disappointed but understanding. And it was Dad I'm worried about. He might take away my iPod, and then he'll go on this stupid lecture on how Sherry was so good and blah blah blah.

"Hamish!" I yelled. It was getting darker by the minute. "Hamish, where are you!"

"Sherry, I'm here!" I turned to my right, where Hamish's voice called from. I caught sight of him talking to someone. He waved at me to come over. I exhaled a breath of relief and walked over to him and his friend. Only the friend was a familiar face. It was the stalker. The beautiful blue eyed stalker. He straightened up and caught my eye. He smiled, as if he didn't recognize me.

"Hamish, didn't Uncle John tell you about talking to strangers?" I said in a scolding tone.

"No harm done, I'm not a serial killer." Oh my gosh his voice is pure velvet. If people thought Uncle Sherlock's voice was perfect, they haven't heard his. Why is this stalker so perfect?

"That's what a serial killer would say." I replied.

"Well, it was nice meeting you both. Goodbye Hamish, goodbye you pretty stranger." He said and disappeared to the pathway. Did he just call me pretty? I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks.

"Hamish, did you give him your name?" I asked Hamish. He might be a serial killer, and Hamish gave him his name. Way to go!

"Who?"

"The guy just now! Pay attention, Hamish." I said. Is he serious?

"What guy? I was chasing a duck!"

"Not funny, Hamish. Just stop. You were talking to someone."

"No, I wasn't. Are you seeing things, Sherry?" Hamish asked me, clearly as puzzled as I was. "Come on, we'll be late!" He dragged me along.

But why didn't Hamish remember that he was talking to someone just now? Was the stalker a ghost that only I could see? And most importantly, what did he want?


End file.
